Once upon a time, many of us carried a dark desire to watch the world burn and to cheer for the kind of protagonist who actively set it ablaze and became a true menace.
We wanted the villain to win. We wanted the monster to triumph. We wanted to see the hero crushed and the innocent slaughtered, because in some twisted, deeply personal way, it felt like justice.
I do not regret burning the Capital to the ground or purging everyone who was half-hearted or disloyal. Their fear and forced submission have become a direct source of power for me. I can feel it thickening in the air.
My strength is growing steadily as the screams of agony continue to echo across the burning city.
Hah…
What a truly lovely scenery.
The flames painting the sky in shades of orange and crimson. The smoke billowing upward like offerings to some dark god. The once-proud Capital reduced to nothing but ash and memory.
I love burning the world, the people, and everything that stands against me. We are not yet at the stage of consuming everything, but for now my immediate purpose has already been fulfilled.
I have grown stronger. I have re-solidified the fear and loyalty of those who had begun to waver toward Sirzechs.
My remaining followers now carry out my commands without hesitation, hurling hellfire, cutting enemies down with demonic blades, taking to the skies, and unleashing powerful spells across the battlefield.
They have seen what happens to those who doubt me. They have witnessed the fate of Lord Lucifuge.
And they have chosen wisely to remain loyal.
We are retreating, but it is a controlled and powerful retreat, not the chaotic rout of a defeated army.
We move with purpose and discipline, covering our withdrawal with waves of destructive magic that keep the enemy at bay.
And as we fall back into the shadows, more and more like-minded devils are gathering to our cause.
Radicals, outcasts, those who have grown dissatisfied with Sirzechs's rule before it has even properly begun. They see our conviction. They respect our willingness to do what others would not.
We cover ourselves in dark cloaks and officially step into the shadows, abandoning the pretense of being legitimate rulers.
We embrace the path of the true dark side, not as a temporary measure, but as our permanent identity.
We are no longer the government of the Underworld. We are its monsters. Its boogeymen. Its darkest nightmare made manifest.
And from the shadows, we will watch.
We will wait.
We will grow stronger.
And when the time is right, when Sirzechs's new order inevitably begins to crack and crumble under the weight of its own imperfections, we will return.
Not as defeated remnants seeking redemption.
But as the fire that burns everything to ash.
When Sirzechs, Serafall, Ajuka, Grayfia, and the rest of their forces finally arrived at the Capital of Lilith, the joy of their hard-won victory drained from their faces in an instant.
The triumphant smiles faded. The celebratory words died on their lips.
One by one, they fell into a heavy, suffocating silence as they stood at the edge of what had once been the heart of the Underworld.
They stared blankly at the scorching, smoldering remains that stretched out before them.
Nothing remained except ashes and blood.
The grand buildings that had once housed the nobility were now nothing but blackened skeletons of stone and timber.
The bustling marketplaces where merchants had hawked their wares were reduced to piles of charred debris.
The homes where families had lived and loved and dreamed were gone, erased from existence as if they had never been.
A massive, shimmering barrier formation still hung in the sky above the ruins, its dark energy pulsing faintly as it slowly dissipated.
The design was unmistakable, it had been created to prevent anyone below Satan-class from escaping its confines.
Which meant virtually the entire population of the city, from the highest noble to the lowliest commoner, had been trapped inside like animals in a cage when the flames consumed everything.
There had been no escape.
No mercy.
No survivors.
With a surge of raw, barely controlled destructive power, Sirzechs tore the barrier formation apart with his bare hands.
The dark magic shattered like glass and rained down over the ashes in shimmering fragments.
But the act brought him no satisfaction.
Anguish twisted across his face, contorting his usually composed features into something unrecognizable.
"What happened here, Ajuka?" His voice was hollow, drained of its usual confidence.
"This is beyond cruel. This is genocide. Are the spoiled second-generation Satans even capable of something like this? What was the point of this war, of trying to protect our already thin population, if we end up losing them all anyway?"
Ajuka's fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles went white.
His expression hardened into something cold and terrible, his analytical mind already working through the implications.
"Sirzechs… whoever did this will pay for it. I swear on everything I am, they will pay. This wasn't an act of war. This was an act of pure destruction. Someone wanted to erase this city from existence, and they succeeded."
Grayfia furrowed her elegant brows, her silver eyes scanning the endless ruins with growing, gnawing unease.
"My father should have been here. He was supposed to ensure our victory would be clean and decisive. But why… why did this happen? Where is my father?"
Serafall's voice rose with fury.
"We should execute every last one of those Satan descendants, Sirzechs. Every single one. We still don't know how far their cruelty can go, they just proved they're willing to slaughter an entire city rather than surrender. They already burned the Capital to the ground. What's next? What other atrocities are they capable of?"
"Enough, Serafall!" Sirzechs roared, his voice echoing across the desolate wasteland.
His powerful crimson aura exploded outward without warning, the force of it so overwhelming that the others were forced to stagger back involuntarily.
The ground beneath his feet cracked and splintered. The ash in the air was blown away in a massive radial shockwave.
"We will not lay a hand on them without proof," he said, his voice now cold and controlled, but carrying an undercurrent of barely restrained fury.
"We are not like them. We will not become the monsters we fought against. But make no mistake, we will never forgive this atrocity."
"I will personally find out who is responsible for this massacre. I will hunt them down no matter how far they run or how deep they hide."
"And when I find them, I will execute them with my own hands. This I swear."
Serafall said nothing for a long moment, her violet eyes still blazing with fury.
Then she snorted coldly and turned away. "Come with me, Grayfia. I believe the ones responsible are still nearby. I can feel traces of their demonic energy. They haven't gone far."
Her voice dropped, becoming quieter and more personal. "Besides… you want to know where your father is, don't you? You want to know what happened to him."
Grayfia nodded silently, her expression unreadable but her eyes betraying the storm of emotions beneath the surface.
Without another word, the two women turned and departed, their forms quickly disappearing into the smoke and haze as they pursued whoever had caused this destruction
Sirzechs and Ajuka remained behind, standing alone amidst the endless ruins.
The ash continued to fall from the sky, dusting their shoulders and hair.
Despite their victory, despite having defeated the Old Satan Faction and secured the future of the Underworld, they felt only a profound, crushing hollowness in their chests.
There was no celebration here.
No triumph.
No joy.
Nothing remained but the bitter taste of ashes and the haunting silence of a city that no longer existed.
They had won the war, but standing here in the graveyard of their own people, it felt like they had lost something far more precious than territory or political power.
Nothing remained but bitterness.
And the unshakable, burning need for answers.